I have never been the type to harbor anger or hatred against anyone or anything regardless of warrant. It’s just not in my default programming. If I know that someone or something would make me feel murderous, I deem it best to just avoid them and/or train my mind that they don’t exist.

For the past couple of months I have been harboring ill feelings towards someone I used to think the world of. For the past couple of months, my world as I knew it has been shattered to ugly sharp shards and I’ve been bleeding from and because of them since.

Lately, however, I’ve been feeling more like myself, breathing a little more easily, the bitterness no longer a kick in the face upon waking. I won’t go as far as saying I’ve forgiven it all or even really ready to – I know I’m not at that point yet. I’m not ready to be the bigger person just yet. I am, however, feeling less small. And that’s progress in tiny, tiny increments but progress nonetheless.

You see, for the past year and a half, I’ve been completely devoted to this guy who I thought was the answer to all my unspoken prayers. He was everything… Everything I thought I deserved and more. He wasn’t an easy person to build a relationship with primarily because he was the textbook introvert. He claimed it’s been years since he’s had any form of romantic relationship and longer since he’s had a serious one. It was easy to believe him. He was awkward, painfully shy, and it took us months to actually have a real interaction outside of text messaging. I believed him when he said I was the only girl he’s been talking to. Believed him when he said I was the only one he’s interested in. Believed him when he said I changed his life for the better, that I “saved” him. I drank that all in, my ego bursting at its seams. I loved the adoration, anybody would. Anyone who’d claim otherwise is a bonafide shithead. There were red flags that sprouted along the way but I saw them as challenges for me to overcome, and in some ways I did and everytime I convinced myself that I’ve successfully broken down one of his numerous walls, I felt better. I felt accomplished. Conquering his demons made me feel like I was the best version of myself and in a way, I was. I still believe I was my best self with him. No, I was far from perfect but I was patient, loyal, devoted, affectionate, attentive, appreciative, considerate, loving, understanding – all fiercely to a fault. Part of it, I guess, was fear of making the same stupid mistakes I did in past relationships and end up losing him like so. I feared losing him not cause I feared being alone. I feared losing him because something in me kept telling me I shouldn’t. But I lost him anyway.

Backtrack to 4 months ago sometime in August. I noticed a change in him, rather my gut was telling me something was off. I talked to him about it and he assured me that “everything is okay, everything’s going to be alright. Don’t worry.” But the feeling lingered. I remember it becoming so strong at times even when he was beside me that I literally felt sick to my stomach. I ignored it, thinking I was just being paranoid or whatever. Fast forward to October, I found out he’s been flirting (and god knows what else) with this girl since the beginning of summer. Another Filipina who I happen to have a shit ton of mutual friends with. That was a fuckin slap to the face because 1) he made me believe that one of the major setbacks in our relationship was due to the fact that I’m Filipina aka non white and he fears I won’t fit in his family, and 2) he managed to fuckin play me so exquisitely, my head’s still reeling from the fuckery of it all. Of course I confronted him about it and predictably enough, got labeled as crazy and “not knowing what I’m talking about” and “shame on me.” I ended up apologizing like the fool that I am. While he, well, he didn’t even bother explaining. He just sat back and reveled in the idiot show that I was. But as with all truths, his bullshit was soon revealed. I was right all along. Right on the fuckin money, it’s insane.

Every piece just fell into place. Everything started making sense. The changed behavior, the sudden coldness, his cruelty towards me the last morning we saw each other, his willingness to give up on us… He saw the grass on the other side and thought it to be greener.

In spite of the hurt and the almost daily fantasies of destroying his face, I have come to the realization that he simply made a choice. I just happened to be collateral damage. In spite all this, I still believe that no one makes a choice to intentionally hurt someone but being faced with one already guarantees that someone somehow will be hurt regardless. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. He made his bed and is now lying in it or with it or on it. Ugh.

As I’ve said earlier, I am not in any way ready to be the bigger person but I believe I’m getting there. I realized that none of us know what the hell we’re doing and we’re all just really doing the best we can and that includes him. I will keep reminding myself of this everyday til I get to the point when I can finally forgive and sing that Adele song “Send My Love to Your New Lover” and truly mean it. Until then, he can go fuck himself (even if he obviously doesn’t have to. Ugh).

Loving someone who abused that love doesn’t make me a victim. It just makes me someone who’s capable of real love – requitted or not. I forgive myself for that. I am proud of myself for that.

Took some time and guts to finally write about this… Okay, I feel better now.